


How many?

by Lonaargh



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-18 05:48:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3558434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lonaargh/pseuds/Lonaargh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mireille and her party have just taken care of the slavers in Denerim, but this has left her shaken to her core. She finds that she has some problems dealing with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How many?

Face grim, Mireille marched through the Alienage. Her armor was still splattered with the blood of the slavers they had killed mere moments ago. Her party had problems keeping up with her as her boots stomped on the cobbles, but she didn’t notice. Didn’t care either.  
So many dead, so many wounded. And those who didn’t show any superficial wounds didn’t speak. They only stared at her with empty gazes, eyes hollow in faces white as sheets.

“Mireille?” The concern was obvious in Zevran’s question, but she didn’t need concern. Not now. She was fine. She was alive. She wasn’t the one about to be sold as a slave.

“No.”

He fell silent again, but she could feel his eyes burning in her back. She knew that he would want to talk about it later. And that was fine. But first someone was going to pay for what she had just seen.

Around them the city elves watched them go, still blissfully unaware of what had happened in their midst. Two children kicking a pebble crossed their path, quickly getting out of the way when they saw the group coming. Mireille swallowed back the bile rising in her throat.

“You filthy little knife ear!” They suddenly heard a man shouting in an alley nearby.  
Mireille’s eyes narrowed at the word ‘knife ear’ and her hands balled into fists at her sides.  
Without saying a word, she changed direction and headed into the alley.

A young elven boy was cowering in the corner of the dead end alley, a guard looming threateningly over him. The boy cried out in pain every time the guard brought a fist down.  
“Please Ser! It wasn’t me!” the boy pleaded, using his arms to shield his head from the incoming blows.

“Of course it wasn’t you! It’s never any of you filthy creatures, is it?” the guard sneered, “Don’t lie to me, you stinking rat! I saw you stealing that bread with those disgusting paws of yours.”  
He reached around his belt to grab his club, not noticing Mireille standing there with murder in her eyes.  
“I’ll teach you a lesson you won’t soon forget.”

“I dare you,” Mireille hissed in a low voice, causing the guard to turn around, “I fucking dare you to lay another hand on that child.”

“Oh, great. Another knife ear, come to the rescue eh?” The guard spat, brandishing the club, “Just you run along to your little friends and you won’t get hurt.”

Mireille felt Leliana’s hand on her shoulder, “Come now, surely there’s no need for threats and violence,“ Leliana said to the guard, “we only wanted to check up on the awful noises coming from this alley. If you’d allow us we’ll bring this child back to his parents.”

A couple of elves came walking up behind them, curious as to what all the commotion was about. When they spotted the guard and the little boy they stopped in their tracks. Mireille could see them glance at each other and saw the tired resignation in their expressions. This was something that happened daily. It wasn’t shocking anymore, it wasn’t anything new. It was a part of life.

“And who are you?” the guard looked Leliana up and down, eyes lingering just a fraction too long on her breasts, “some bleedin’ heart out to save the little shits? Look lady, don’t bother. This brat doesn’t have any parents anyway, they died when they were caught stealing and tried to escape justice.” He barked out a harsh laugh, “I guess it runs in the family, eh?” He kicked the little boy viciously in the ribs.

“Enough!” Mireille took the greatsword from her back and threw it on the ground. The clatter rang through the alley, a signal for the bystanders that someone was about to get hurt. One of them, a young woman, ran away, calling for the Keeper in a loud voice.

“That’s a pretty sword, darling,” the guard drawled, stepping closer to Mireille, “did you nick it off a body somewhere? Stole it from someone who couldn’t put up a fight?”

“Why don’t you come closer so you can find out?” she growled, “Surely a little elf like me is no match for a fucking _shemlen_ like yourself?”

“What did you just call me?” he raised the club over his head and rushed over to her, “You’d better pick up that sword, because you’re going to need it. You fucking _bitch_ , I’ll teach you some-“ As the club came sailing down towards her, Mireille grabbed his wrist in her hand. In one fluid movement she stepped behind him, twisting his arm behind his back. The guard cried out in pain when Mireille pushed his arm further up, forcing him to drop the club.

“I’m sorry,” she hissed in his ear, “you were saying something about teaching me something?”  
She kicked the club away, towards where the rest of her party was standing.  
“You won’t be needing that one,” she said, “it’s not long enough to function as a crutch for when I’m done with you.”

“Let me go or I swear I’ll kill you!” The guard shouted, spittle flying from his mouth in rage.

With a disgusted noise, Mireille let go of his arm and shoved him away from her. When he turned around to face her she motioned with her hands for him to try it again.  
“Come on then,” she said, voice soft and low, “show me what you wanted to do. Show me what you so desperately needed to _teach_ me.”

The guard massaged his wrist, his facial features contorted in rage, “You’re dead. Dead meat.” Using the sleeve of his jacket, he wiped the spit from his mouth.  
From his belt he produced another weapon. The dagger gleamed in the sunlight.  
“First, I’m going to cut up your pretty little face,” he slowly advanced on her, “then I’m going to sell you to the fucking highest bidder and I’ll make sure they’ll know how to bring you to your knees,” he chuckled as Mireille dodged the first swipe of his dagger, “and I’ll come visit you regularly, just to see your face when you’re on your knees before me, sucking my-“

With an angry shout Mireille kicked the dagger out of his hand, knocking him completely back when her fist connected with his jaw. He staggered back, barely keeping his balance.

Mireille swiftly closed the distance between them. The guard tried to dodge, but he was no match for her speed. With an upward strike from her palm she easily broke his nose, making him drop his defense. Her fist landed hard and fast on his right ear. Before he even knew what was happening Mireille kicked his legs out from under him, landing him on his back in the dirt.

She straddled his chest, gripping his hair in one hand while pummeling his face with the other.  
“You were going to tell someone how to bring me to my knees?” she spat, ramming the back of his head against the ground, “You were going to sell me?” His nose exploded in a spray of blood when her fist shattered the bone.  
“How many children did you sell?” She was screaming in his face now, “How many children did you kill? How many did you have on their knees before you?”

The guard wasn’t responding anymore, his face a red and purple mass. But Mireille didn’t stop hitting him, repeating the question “How many?” with every blow she delivered.

From somewhere far away she could hear someone calling out her name, “Mireille! Mireille, stop it!”  
Somewhere in her mind the voice registered as belonging to Leliana, but she didn’t care.

“Mireille, you’re killing him!” Another blow, more blood.

Then someone took her arm, trying to wrench her away from the guard.  
“No!” she screamed, pulling her arm free, “He hasn’t answered me yet. I… I need to know!”

“He won’t answer you anytime soon,” came Zevran’s stern voice in her ear, “it’s time for us to go.” He took her arm again, forcefully pulling her back up on her feet. He picked up her sword and bound it on its usual spot on her back.  
Using his fingers he tried to wipe away most of the bloodspatter on Mireille’s face, but ended up only smearing it out. “It’ll have to do,” he sighed.  
“Leliana?” His gaze flickered to the child still hiding in the corner, “I think it’s best that you bring the lad back home. We’ll meet you in camp.”

Leliana nodded and walked over to the boy, holding out her hand, “It’s alright. He won’t hurt you anymore, I promise you.”

Zevran turned his attention to Alistair, whose face was grim, “Alistair? Please be so kind as to inform the captain of the guard what has happened here.”

“Sure thing.”

Zevran snaked his arm around Mireille’s waist, supporting her as they walked out of the alley.

“Zevran, no,” she protested weakly, “he will wake up and then-“

“I don’t think he’ll wake up anytime soon, if he does wake up at all,” Zevran answered shortly, “Leliana will inform the Keeper about what happens. Right now we have to get out of here before any of his buddies come around.”

Mireille nodded, her face ashen under the blood.

~~

Clench. Unclench. Mireille flexed her fingers as she paced the campsite. Back, forth, back again. She glared and growled at anyone who dared to come too close, like a tiger in captivity. Her own mind felt alien to her, a million thoughts assaulting her at the same time. She couldn’t find peace, felt uncomfortable in her own brain.

She looked up sharply when she heard someone approach, only lowering her guard a little when she saw it was Zevran.  
“Wynne tells me you won’t let her heal your knuckles.” he casually sat down on the fallen log, stretching his long legs in front of him.

“I’m fine, it doesn’t need healing,” she growled, continuing her pacing.

“Oh, I’m sure it’s fine. So you won’t mind if I just take a look at them, right?” He reached out for her hand, but Mireille flinched and stepped out of his reach.

Zevran raised an eyebrow at her, leaning back again.  
“No, I can see it. You’re fine. Right,” the sarcasm dripped from the words.

Mireille stopped walking, covering her face with her trembling hands.  
“I’m sorry, Zev,” she muttered, “it’s just… I…”

“Sit down,” Zevran commanded, his usually so gentle voice stern.

Not protesting any longer, she sat down next to Zevran. As careful as he could he took her hands in his own, tutting when he saw the bloodied knuckles.

“Stay here.”  
A few moments later he reappeared with a wet cloth and some bandages.  
“Now hold still, this needs to be cleaned up,” he gently pressed the wet cloth against the raw flesh, looking up when she winced, “there’s no telling what kind of disease he carried with him.”  
She didn’t respond to his little joke. She simply couldn’t see the humor in it.  
  
With care he bandaged up her hands, “Talk,” he ordered her when he deemed her calm enough.

Mireille snorted in disdain, “What about?” She avoided his eyes. There was no way she could handle this right now. She would be fine. They had left a trail of corpses behind them in the last few months, there was no reason why she’d be so shaken up about a few more people.  
  
_‘Your people,’_ a little voice whispered in the back of her head. A little voice she immediately pushed back into the cacophony of a million other voices already screaming in her mind.

“You know very well what I want you to talk about,” he finished up the bandages and let go of her hands, “just as I know why you won’t let Wynne heal that.”

“There’s nothing to talk about Zev,” she answered, staring at her knuckles, “I simply lost it. I shouldn’t have, I know that. But it happened. And that’s all there’s to it.”

“Hmhm. And you believe that?” he asked.

Mireille jumped up, turning her back on Zevran, “What do you want from me?” she snarled, “I don’t _talk_. You know that. I’m a warrior, Zev. Warriors don’t talk, we… we-”  
She spun around, showing him her hands, “ _This_ is what I do. I hit. I cut. I bleed,” she hesitated for a fraction of a second, “I kill,” she said softly.

“You didn’t-“ Zevran protested, but Mireille cut him off.

“I should have!” She ran a hand down her face, “I should have killed him,” she went on, softer this time.  
“You know they’ll just take it out on the elves, right?”

“You don’t know that. He had it coming and by now the news of you will have spread like wildfire.”

“You heard what he said, Zev! Little children! They didn’t just sell them for labor, but also for- You heard him! Down on my knees, in front of him? Creators, it makes me sick to my stomach just to think of it!”

Zevran stood up, his brow furrowed in concern. It was only when he reached up to wipe a tear from her cheek that Mireille noticed that she was crying.

“They were selling children into slavery,” she repeated, wiping angrily at her eyes, “children, men, women. If I’d been living in the city. If I-“ the words wouldn’t form on her lips, “It could have been my mother, Zevran! My sister!” Her lip started to tremble and she felt as if she would choke, “It could have been _me_ …” she finally managed to say, before falling to her knees and starting to sob.

Zevran crouched next to her, wrapping his arms around her and trying to console her as best as he could. He pressed a kiss in her hair, holding her close, rocking her softly.  
He didn’t say everything would be alright, he didn’t say she’d be fine. He knew those words would be hollow, meaningless to her.

He only made one promise; “Loghain will pay for this. He’ll get what he deserves.”


End file.
